


Cold Case, Cold Night

by AQuietThinker



Series: Brooklyn 99 2021 Prompts [4]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Santiago Loves Jake Peralta, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Established Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description, Head Injury, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jake Whumpt, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peraltiago, Protective Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine), Ray Holt Acting as Jake Peralta's Parental Figure, Rosa Diaz & Amy Santiago Friendship, Team as Family, Torture, Violence, Whump, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker
Summary: Ages ago, he would have pictured himself as a badass cop. searching through halls with his hand around his gun, looking for perps to catch and hostages to save, being admired as a legend once backup arrived.But this was not a film, but the cold, harsh face of reality. No backup was coming, there was no weapon on his hands except for a rusty pipe, and he didn't feel cool, just pained and terrified. In this story, he is mortified and doesn't believe in a hopeful outcome. But he has to stay alive.Prompt: Jake gets kidnapped and tortured by a perp while the squad tries to solve the case and save him.
Relationships: Jake Peralta & Amy Santiago, Jake Peralta & Everyone, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz & Amy Santiago
Series: Brooklyn 99 2021 Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144469
Comments: 63
Kudos: 63





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happinessbcofu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happinessbcofu/gifts).



> Long fic! Long fic! I have about ten chapters thought out for this, though it may change a little through time. MIND THE TAGS. I won't be too explicit on torture, but there will be certain graphic descriptions.
> 
> Prompt: could you write one where Jake gets tortured by a perp (like Murphey for example) to the point where the perp "breaks'' Jakes mind. And the squad keeps getting videos of his torture but they cant find him for a long time
> 
> Thank you so much to happinessbcofu for the prompt! Hope you like it!

_ His head was pounding loudly. It was the easiest fact to define, for the palpitations came in order, one after the other, each equally as loud as the last, and never ending. Unlike the rest of the pain on his body or thoughts that came through his head, this annoyance concentrated in his head without skipping a beat. _

_ Moving had always come naturally to him, being a person with fluent limbs and a flair for motion, but at the moment only a fraction of his brain, the part that was gripping to common sense with iron hands, was willing him to walk. _

_ Right leg, left leg. One step, two steps. _

_ He passed a small, overturned barrel, nearly tripping over it. He would curse but his voice gave out days ago. _

_ As soon as he woke up in this cave of nightmares, days or years ago, he knew he was underground. The whole darkened area smelled of tupid humidity, and sometimes, whenever he got to feel the walls at night, his fingernails came back with a layer of dirt. However, this place was more intricated than his original mental map, and he feared his legs might give out under him as he turned through dozens of empty hallways. _

_ His hands, ignoring the bendt fingers, ignoring the caked feeling of blood that peeled away, felt around for something. Ages ago he would have been filled with thrill instead of anguish, picturing himself as an americanized hero, searching through halls with his hand around his gun, looking for perps to catch and hostages to save, being admired as a legend once backup arrived. _

_ But this was not a film, but the cold, harsh face of reality.  _

_ No backup was coming, there was no weapon on his hands except for a rusty pipe, and he didn't feel cool, just pained and terrified. _

_ The pounding in his head seemed to spread to his ears, and a ringing, at first faraway but then growing closer. Unconsciously, he fidgets with his wedding band, feeling it surge a small pang of comfort. They've left it on his finger, either because of pity or to mock him, but it's kept him alive and running. _

_ He wants to go home. To wrap himself up in blankets and feel Amy’s hand on his shoulder, lean against her black hair and just sleep for eternity. _

_ A sound manages to pierce through the palpitations against his ears, and on a near animalistic instinct he freezes, bringing the pipe closer to his center. _

_ People. Bad people. _

_ None of the people he has met in this place have been remotely kind. Perhaps some were less harsh than others, but they all worked for Vecchio, and they all liked the smell of blood. And perhaps the story would have made for a brilliant copper book, but in a novel the hero is never afraid and gets out alive.  _

_ In this story, he is mortified and doesn't believe in a hopeful outcome. But he has to stay alive. _

_ The voices pause for a moment and his heart plummets, thinking he’s been caught, but they continue their low conversations after a few paralyzing seconds. He’s not done for, not yet.  _

_ One step, two steps. His knee is complaining even if he has not walked for such a long distance. _

_ Something in front of him starts moving, and before a pair of hands can catch him he swings the pipe forward angrily, hitting something. Someone screams, and he lets himself smile before running, dashing past the fallen victim of his movements towards the end of the corridor. _

_ Now they’ll know he’s escaped. He’s done for, and his time is counted. But there is still an ounce of defiance left, and if he manages to injure one or two more men, he’ll show Murphy he's not completely dead to the world, just yet. _

_ Before he can make a turn there’s a blooming feeling of pain on his knee. He grips the pipe tighter as he's thrown back on the ground, but someone pulls it away. _

_ “I’m surprised, Peralta. You gave Carl here quite a hit with that pipe of yours.” _

_ Carl. Lame name. _

_ “I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you, detective. Carl’s listening.” _

_ So he could speak, and had once again been stupid enough to say it out loud. He’s tempted, for a moment, to give up. Let them shoot him on that filthy floor, and he’ll no longer have to endure it. _

_ No. _

_ He must be a pathetic sight, but even if he's slumped against the floor and a group of smug eyes are staring at him, his hand weakly tugs on the other. His ring. His wife. _

_ He can't give up. Not yet. _

_ He could distinguish a swing of silver and flinch away just before the pipe hit his head into unconsciousness. _

_ \- - - - - - - - - - _

Boyle’s brand new yarns had come useful for the murder board, though Terry had already complained that the use of yellow, pink, and blue with small glittery bits was a tad too festive for a series of tortures and murders. Creating the board itself had been interesting: It was now big enough to be spread on one of the walls, with organized pictures of criminals and suspects, a variety of post-it notes Amy had happily provided, and an intricate web of the yarn.

Jake had been staring at his creation for more than half an hour, eyes jumping from locations to interrogations over and over. The whole set of crimes weren't making any linear sense in his head, but he had to keep trying. Rosa and Terry had already given their opinion a few times, but Jake still needed more time to think.

Five murders, two former inmates tortured beyond sanity, and more than five million dollars worth of stolen goods. He had originally treated the case as a serial killer on the loose, but after the discovery of robberies and a few written notes for the police, it all clicked.

Alberto Vecchio.

During his time in the Mafia, years ago, he had heard the name in a few of the many family gatherings. He knew a certain Anastasia Vecchio had been one of Angie’s bridesmaids, but since the last name bounced around a lot there was no way of proving that they were related. 

While he had paid little attention to the name, he did gather some information regarding the man- a dangerous convict, already in and out of prison more than a dozen times. Through the support of the mafia and his meticulous planning, Vecchio had avoided any long term sentences. He always had an alibi, multiple witnesses, and more than a few officers under his money.

Jake knew Vecchio was behind everything, but simply making an arrest with insufficient evidence would not only lose him the trial, but put the criminal, along with his band of psychos, on his tail.

He sighed and crossed his arms, turning to another unopened box of evidence. Terry had kindly left a pair of them earlier, all holding evidence related to crimes that matched his pursuit.

But gosh, he was tired.

The robberies had become a cold case months earlier, and as much as he had wished to throw himself into his work without thinking of his health in order to solve it, Amy, or the rest of the squad, would not let him. He was grateful for their care, all in all, and had eventually come to terms with the fact that those five million would just be lost forever. When the murders appeared, Holt assigned it to him due to his history with the Oolong Slayer or the Myrtle Ghost killings, and he had treated it with the same amount of care and determination.

Then the victims started popping.

When they first met one of the torture survivors, Rosa had not been shaken. She had, out of consideration or direct orders from Holt, lowered her voice and acted kindly around the man. He, however, had frozen when he first saw the details of the victim’s suffering.

Broken jaw and nose, cracked knees and two bullet wounds on his thighs. A signature only mafia members would use. Though he vowed never to remember again, he had to go back to the memory of his own boot pressing a man’s face against the concrete, waiting for orders. 

He let out an involuntary shudder, and closed the other box. It was late- most of the officers had already gone home, and through the windows of the room he could see that Amy was already packing up her files and coat.

A smile tugged on his lips. They had enjoyed a long weekend after and extended leave due to Amy’s last minute allergic reactions. Years ago he would have imagined a long weekend with his future wife would involve sex and many bottles of cheap beer, but their days off had been totally different, and a lot more enjoyable. They had done what he called “Old couples oggies”, staying in bed all day long, eating out of cups while he chatted or read to her. 

Jake smiled again, feeling his cheeks warm up. The case could wait for now. He’d keep working with it throughout the week, but at the moment he could only picture their couch, Property Brothers, and the two five hundred piece puzzles that spread across the dining table.

He barely heard Amy coming in and leaning by his side. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” he said, resting his head against her shoulder.

“What's on your mind?” she asked, eyeing the murder board.

“Nothing, just how I’m going to beat you in the puzzle.”

She smirked. “Oh heck no. I’m nearly done with mine.”

“As much as I would like to see the completion of RoboCop, I’m pretty sure I'm going to win.”

“You chose Fargo. An all white puzzle is impossible.”

“No it's not. It's easy. You don't have to constantly look at the picture to solve it!”

He knew Amy was probably right, and completing a nearly white puzzle was going to be impossible for him. After they bought more than a dozen cop film puzzles from Mlepnos, he had been eager to finish them all and frame a few to boast around, but after the twentieth piece of snow white pieces, his head had begun spinning.

“Either way, I'm going to win.” she said. 

Jake smirked and pulled her against his chest. “Oh? And what will you do then?”

“Then,” she grabbed his tie playfully. “I’ll have to solve an even bigger puzzle.”

“The puzzle that’s my ass, title of our sex tape?” He prompted before frowning. “Wait, no-”

She pressed her hand against his mouth. “You can't take it back now.”

She pushed him slightly against the table before stepping back. Stretching his hands back, he took the boxes and leaned towards the wall to turn the lights off.

“Well, then guess we have to go home to see who finishes their puzzles first, but I do have to brief Holt first.”

“Ever the responsible one-”

“Well, babe, this responsible man here,” he said, “Has a very difficult case ahead of himself. Last time I didn't brief him before I got home he grounded me at home with tomato soup for nearly a week.” he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Go home. I’ll catch up after I’m done here.”

“Okay. But don't be annoyed that I have a head start.”

Jake closed the door and smiled again. “Even with a head start you couldn't even begin to beat me, Santiago.”

She nodded and kissed him, before walking away. He let his gaze linger on her back and the motion of her ponytail before turning to leave the boxes in the evidence locker.

\- - - - - - - - - -

“Have you questioned the suspects?”

Holt was ready to leave, with his briefcase and coat tucked underneath his arm, when Peralta had knocked on the doorframe. He allowed the detective to brief him quickly, but only paid little attention, with his mind already on the idea of Kevin’s version of Bouillabaisse.

“I’ll do that tomorrow, sir. Forensics hasn't returned the samples in the victim’s rooms yet, so until they work that out, I’m stuck.”

He nodded, trying to keep his sleepiness out of his flat expression. “Alright. Wait until the reports are out. I don’t want Dr. Smith to complain about your non professional insistence.”

Peralta smirked. “I really needed those files, Captain.”

“I know you did, but knocking on the lab’s door repeatedly until it shattered at three in the morning is not profesional. This can wait for another day.”

The man mocked a loud groan but nodded. His hands shifted inside his pockets, but as he turned to leave, Holt could tell something was bothering him. Peralta always had an unexpected way of acting, making it hard to study his reactions. But the shifting in his feet and slightly uncomfortable gaze that looked around indicated that perhaps something was off.

“Is there anything in particular that bothers you, Peralta?” he asked. “Or do you just want another chocolate?” he motioned the bowl of sweets Amy had placed earlier.

“What? Oh, uh…”

“If this case is becoming too much for you, I can ask Diaz or Boyle to help-”

Peralta raised his hand to interrupt. “It's not that, just…”

Holt raised an eyebrow but allowed him to take his time and continue. The detective kept tapping his foot a few times before finally resuming.

“The guy I’m after. Vecchio. I’m pretty sure he was involved in the mafia, or with some other bigger criminal families.”

He frowned. “How sure are you?”

“Eighty percent sure. I heard his name bounce around in my time undercover and…” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “It also popped up when we arrested part of the Murphy family. I wouldn't worry too much about their relationship ‘because he seemed more like a lone wolf type of psycho.”

Peralta finished his explanation with less worry in his voice, and popped open one of the yellow wrapped chocolates from the bowl on his desk.

A disturbing feeling darkened his senses at the mention of Murphy. If Peralta was correct in his guess, they would have to be more meticulous and careful in their investigation. However, it also made sense for Vecchio to be separated from the affairs. He had gone over the last details of the case himself, and none of them matched anything made by Murphy. 

The clock’s ticking became slightly louder, and he's sleepiness came back. It was already late, and the case could wait.

“Go over the files of your time undercover if you wish. And be patient. Remember that these cases take time.” he said.

Peralta nodded solemnly, and turned to leave. “Right, right. Thanks, Captain.”

“Good night, Peralta.”

He watched the detective trod to his desk, but instead of fetching his coat to leave, turned towards the evidence locker. Holt let out a sigh now that his office was empty, and tugged on his own coat. Hopefully his detective would be more caring about his health, but there was nothing he could do at the moment.

\- - - - - - - - - -

He headed home after closing the locker, with his coat hanging from his arm loseley. Taking a cab would be both expensive and odd this late at night, so he began to walk. Some air would be nice, and perhaps alleviate his headache. The pain was nearly present in his head: not quite there, but he was sure that as soon as he got home, it would start aching badly.

Jake stopped, taking his hands out of his pockets and stretching. He could turn back to the precinct, return to the case and let Amy down for tonight. He doubted she would be disappointed, only a little upset. She knew how hard he was working, how much he needed to concentrate.

No. It was wrong. He needed to get home quickly, maybe take a shower and enjoy watching his wife triumphantly finish the puzzle before him.

A loud scream made him turn on instinct, forgetting any thoughts related to home and work. His hand brushed over his gun holster, looking around to see if there were any other pedestrians.

The street was empty except for the flickering lights of a street lamp and a few customers on a twenty four hour deli.

For a moment, he could hear Holt’s distant words, telling him to go home. He was off duty, and the night shift people could easily send over a dispatch-

_ What the fuck, I’m a cop, not some witness. _

With a frustrated sigh he took out his gun and made sure his badge was visible. “So much for being a good cop, Raymond.” he muttered.

Cautiously, he made his way towards the alley where the sound had come from, looking around to catch any form of life. One step after the other, he finally made his way to the end of the alley, surprised to see it was empty. Odd. 

Perhaps he was just imagining things again, and it was just another one of the universe's signs for him to go to bed. Jake stretched his shoulders back and took out the chocolate wrapper from earlier. It was bright yellow, contrasting the very dark atmosphere of the alley.

Sighing again, he lowered his arms and turned blindly around, ready to go-

A spasm of pain exploded on his stomach and he stumbled back, clutching his torso and gasping. The dark didn't let him see anyone, but something pushed him back against one of the trash cans, crashing loudly. His head began pounding again.

When he looked up he finally made out the figure of two men, masked, but before he could reach for his gun, one of the attackers landed a blow on his shoulder, pinning him against the dirty floor. Just before the men jumped on him, he let the wrapper fall and managed to fold his arms in front of his face in a vain attempt of protection.

He struggled, managing to kick one of them harshly before a blow landed on the back of his head and his eyes saw stars before his consciousness disappeared.


	2. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy goes home without much concern, and Jake wakes up in the dark. Terry and Boyle start to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a little shorter than the usual chapter, mostly because I really wanted to update on Friday but ran out of time :/

When she arrived home, everything was in it’s usual place. Their winter jackets on the coat rack, hers with no wrinkles and his nearly falling, with the entrance mat nearly completely worn out. As she entered, discarding her boots lazily, she made a mental note to replace the mat.

Perhaps she'd let Jake go for groceries during the weekend and risk him coming back with some fuzzy neon mat, with cat puns or something even more ridiculous. 

For now, she’d have to make due, both with the decaying entrance mat and the silence of their apartment.

Amy stretched her limbs back, cracking her neck. If Jake was correct he should be arriving in a few minutes, unless he decided to stay and review more evidence. If he did, she’d have the rest of the night for herself, a book, and some badly cooked box macaroni.

One of the things that had surprised her the most when they moved in together was Jake’s hidden cooking talents. His health was up and down constantly and he never had time, or will, to cook something decent other than microwave meals, but as soon as he became familiar with her useless spice cabinets and many, many pans, he began cooking nearly every night. Sometimes they would even trick her mother to believe that Amy had cooked lasagna or Chicken Fricassee, though it was Jake who followed a recipe and mixed everything.

She loved to watch him cook. He would hum to himself, usually off pitch, and concentrate only on the kitchen, ignoring his surroundings.

Amy ran her fingers over the kitchen isle and turned to look at the dining table. Her puzzle was halfway done while Jake’s barley had a white outline. Not even the bright red letters of Fargo were done, and she had to smirk even if she was alone. She was definitely going to win, but it would be unfair for her to keep working if Jake was still on duty.

She started making herself some dinner, trying to imitate the recipe to her best ability. After half an hour the macaroni looked cheesy, even if a little burned, and she was satisfied to transfer it to a plate. She left another for Jake in the kitchen, hoping that he’d notice it if he came in late. 

After a few hours of reading she realized her husband would probably be gone for the rest of the night. While it was disappointing to think he was returning to his old habit of sacrificing health over the work on a case, she knew he’d be fine in the precinct. The heating had been repaired earlier that month and Terry had stashed blankets in the breakout room for anyone staying late. Worst case scenario, she would encounter a coffee zombie next morning and apologise to the Captain on his behalf.

Sighing, Amy entered the kitchen and covered the now cold meal with another plate. She’d make him eat it tomorrow after she dragged his ass back home.

She checked her phone one last time before bed, texting a short goodnight. Perhaps he would read it later, but for now she was ready to rest.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Something was dripping slowly down the side of his head, making it’s way down his temples and forming small rivulets next to his ear, dripping against the floor. He ached to take a look, but a panicked tug on his arms let him know that his wrists were bound and rope rubbed against his skin uncomfortably. The tips of his fingers were beginning to go numb- every time he pulled, taking more than a few times to learn, the bonds seemed to tighten. 

His eyes were covered with cloth. Frowning hadn't worked to move the blindfold around, so he tried moving his legs instead. There was more mobility, but they were still tapped to the chair.

It hurt. Moving his head around sends waves of pain to his forehead. Perhaps from a concussion or the blow to his head.

_ Breathe. _

It wasn't the first time he was stuck in a situation like this. Murphy had trapped him and Holt in a similar, though less violent, fashion months ago. He’d been on the other side of the spectrum of interrogations during his time in the mafia: observing some poor devil from afar while they were tied to a chair and gasping out of fear.

Jake knew that the first step to a plan was to keep calm. Breath in, breath out.

He stretched out his fingers and wiggled them without moving his wrists, trying to alleviate the pressure. Next he gently stretched his neck, and when it didn't hurt he shook his head. His stomach twisted itself when his head began pounding again.

Nope. Concussion.

Using all his strength he tried to jump. The chair made a loud clunk when it lifted forward a few centimeters and fell back down, but he could work with that. 

His first goal was the blindfold. Things would get done faster if he managed to slip the cloth off and analyze his surroundings. Therefore, his attention shifted to rope.

Rosa has been more than happy to teach him and Terry a trick to dislocate their thumbs years ago, and though Terry had never managed to do it, Jake had passed her crash course with honours. It hurt like a bitch and the sound of a bone popping out of its place was always sickening, but with no sharp objects at his disposition, Jake couldn't think of another option, so he gritted his teeth and carefully wrapped his fingers around his left thumb.

A whine of pain slipped from his lips as the muscle stretched and the joint popped loudly.

_ Breath in, breath out. _

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. His hand was whining from the very sudden discomfort, but a small smile twitched his lips when the hand slipped out of the rope. Nearly instantly he fumbled with the blindfold, blinking rapidly to get accustomed to his surroundings.

His right hand still had a heavy note of rope when he brought it up to examine, and his left thumb was hanging in an odd angle. Biting his lip and looking away, he gripped it to push it back to place. His lip stung a bit, but this time he didn't cry out.

The duct tape wasn't as painful to rip off, but he found it hard to stand. The walls were caving it faster than his liking and his vision was greying- not good.

_ Breath in, stand up. _

Or not. Bad idea. His knees buckled and before he could grip anything for balance he was on the ground.

It hurt. There was too much silence and his blood was rushing to his head in torrents. The head wound was dripping again, and Jake couldn't help but groan out and spread his legs against the stone floor.

As much as his instincts told him to run, his body was not obeying. His hands came together on his chest, and with a dirty finger he traced the golden band. Amy. He couldn't tell the time, but hopefully she was safe, either sleeping at home or fuzzing about breakfast, or maybe already at the precinct with Rosa, working on the series of scams that had been bugging her for so long.

She’d find him, he was sure. But he had to stay alive and keep moving. He could close his eyes, only for a brief moment…

\- - - - - - - - - -

“A what?”

“A curry bun, Sarge. A delicacy made by my Genevive this afternoon- and guess what? Even Nikolaj has taken a liking to it!”

Terry crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. The carefully wrapped bun that Boyle presented smelled… exotic, and while it didn't give off a scent of calamari or bull intestines like last week’s catastrophic lunch, it was particularly unique.

“The filling has homemade curry with turmeric and smoked paprika and coconut milk, and the outside is like a soft dinner roll, crunchy on the outside with its crips curves and soft, warm, insides-”

“Stop making it sound sexual! It's a damn sandwich.”

Boyle made an exaggerated flourish with his left hand. “A sandwich! Don't insult Genevive's cooking, Terry! This is an exquisite delight from-”

“Detectives.”

They both turned to face Holt as soon as his voice thundered from the office. The man was holding his glasses and an early cup of coffee. Terry got up, happy to ignore Boyle’s monologue on his lunch.

“Aye, Captain?”

“How close are you to solving the bodega’s robbery case?”

Terry smiled. “We finished interviewing witnesses yesterday, and Boyle has two suspects who might have wanted to harm Mr. Lorenzo.

“One of them wanted to steal his jam preserves.” chimed in Boyle.

Holt frowned. “How valuable can bodega jam preserves be?”

“Very valuable, sir.”

Though Terry highly doubted that any of the products in the bodegas cost more than a dozen bucks, the intel would lead them to the perp quickly. “We’re going to interview the suspects today.”

Holt seemed satisfied with his answer. “Alright. And if you see Peralta, tell him to meet me at my office.”

“What do you need him for?”

Hotel put folded his glasses neatly and placed them on his breast pocket. “I didn't see him go home last night. I need to remind him that however important the case is, his health should be prioritized as well. Though I have not seen him all morning.”

Terry frowned as well and took a brief look around. He hadn't seen Jake since yesterday, and the quietness of the precinct finally seemed to sink in. There was no clutter in the evidence locker, or extra cups by the coffee machine, or any signs that the younger detective had arrived. Amy isn't in yet, but it seemed odd for everything to be less turbulent.

“Come to think of it, I haven't either.” he muttered, and turned to look at Boyle, who shrugged.

“Why do you think I’m telling you about the curry buns?”

Even if Boyle’s comment was meant to lighten the mood, Terry catched Holt’s expression hardened a fraction. He turned to one of the uniformed officers who was just coming in from the stairs.

“Anne?”

“Yes, Sargent?”

“Have you seen Peralta come in today?” he asked, feeling Holt and Boyle’s eyes on the back of his head.

The woman shook her head. “He left around midnight last night and hasn't come in.”

“Oh.” So perhaps he was home. “Thanks.”

The officer nodded and continued her job. He shrugged and turned back to the Captain.

“So he 's late. It's not unlike Jake.”

Holt did not seem convinced. “Peralta has been working a rather long case in the last few weeks. I do not believe he would stop his intense work…”

He trailed off, as if lost in thought.

“Right, well, continue with your investigation.” Holt turned to him to add more personally, “Do me a favour Jeffords, and keep an eye on Peralta when he comes back. He’s been working on this case for far too long.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” he replied.

The man walked back to his office in his calm demeanor and Terry let the request fall in his mental list of priorities. He was sure Peralta was just late because of coffee or the subway. Stretching, he went back to Boyle, who had finally stored the curry bun away and began going over their search warrants.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. So our first suspect is called Michael Jerkins…”

\- - - - - - - - - -

She was running late. After missing the bus and running for another five blocks to the next station, Amy could only take a brief moment to catch her breath before boarding a taxi. Her hair was a mess and she had left the apartment in a hurry. Jake usually made breakfast, but with his absence she had to prepare it herself plus pack both of their lunches, making her miss the five minute mark to reach the station on time.

Her heels complained when she ran up the stairs after frantically clicking the elevator button. When she finally arrived nobody but Rosa’s amused expression noticed her entrance.

“Don't look at me like that- I woke up on time but missed the bus and-”

She collapsed on one of the chairs and looked up at Rosa.

“You have leaves in your hair.”

“What? Oh-” 

She patted her hair until finding the edge of dried autumn leaves. 

Rosa smirked and crossed her arms. “It's not usual to catch you in a hurry.”

“I know, but I had to pack- and make some extra food because I knew he hadn't eaten anything-”

She stopped when Rosa’s acidically amused expression turned serious. “What?”

“Jake’s not with you?” she asked.

Amy frowned in confusion. “No. He stayed the night here.”

Rosa narrowed her gaze. “No he didn't. We all assumed he went home.”

“He…” Amy tightened her knuckles over the edge of her desk. “He didn't come home last night. I assumed he had stayed at the precinct.”

Rosa’s lips were pressed in a thin line for a while before she spoke. “Did you call him?”

“No, just texted…” Amy scooped out her phone and checked for any notifications. Worry pooled in her stomach when she noticed Jake had not opened her goodnight message. She pressed the screen and started calling, but it only sent her to voicemail.

When she looked up Rosa had begun texting too, but none of her calls were answered.

“I… what do we-”

Rosa seemed to hold herself better and was on her feet in no time. “I'll go get the others. Tell Captain Holt."

She shakily nodded and watched her walk away. He was fine, she was sure. Maybe he just got lost, or went back midmorning when she had already left. 

He’d be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not super proud of this chapter because it was written in a hurry, but hopefully the next one is better. Curry buns are delicious and if you need a recipe, comment it below and I'll happily grant it.
> 
> Comments give me seratonin, and, even if most of the chapters are vaguely planned out, please please pLEASE comment if u have an idea for future chapters! Gives me more inspiration.


	3. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The squad starts looking for Jake while he meets his kidnaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early, consistent update? Moi?!
> 
> I must be delirius. But I hope you all like it. Mind the tags, pls.

_ The first time he tries to escape; he manages to break a window and steal his phone back momentarily. _

_ By the time they had finished with him, one of the men was too drunk to focus properly, and had left the door unlocked. His heart leaped with faith when he noticed, and waited patiently. Though he’s sure he has no broken bones, his leg is still sore. _

_ Being quiet as he crawled towards the door was harder than he thought. _

_ With delight, or as much as his muddled brain could show, he had opened the door and made his way through one of the corridors. There were few to no clues that showed him where he was being held. Everything looked the same: metal halls, all the same grey tone, with dirt floors and the occasional lamp or barrel.  _

_ Perhaps he was by the sea, judging by how humid the dirt was. Or in a cave. Or anywhere that wasn't near New York. _

_ After ages of walking he found another open door, revealing a vacant room with a few lockers, and, surprisingly, some of his belongings. His NYPD vest is there, along with his badge and phone. But what scares him the most is the shrine of information. _

_ Next to an old bench there is a posterboard full of pictures. It reminds him of the murder board back in the presinct, back when everything was simple and Vecchio was just another name on a case. Except that instead of mafia members and linked murders, there are pictures of him scattered around. _

_ Whether it's an unflattering side photo of him eating a panini at the Deli of the corner, or a city camera still of him walking to work, it chills his bones and he has the urge to run. There’s even a photograph of himself in the mafia, though his own hand is covering half of the frame. They had warned him against taking pictures while undercover, and he had complied, but after so many weddings… _

_ It's clearly him, with the greased hair and the faux earrings, along with a few bruises on his cheekbones. _

**_Damnit._ **

_ He turned around, still shivering, and fetched his phone. His gun was nowhere in sight and he had already wasted enough time observing the detailed search the psychopath had conducted to get to him. His already tenuous thread of hope had diminished when he found that the phone had no battery, and prepared to leave before his peripheral view caught a swinging motion- _

_ His head exploded in pain again, both from the blow and the collision against the lockers when he was thrown back. _

_ Clouds were fogging up his vision but he could make out the outline of Vecchio’s face. _

_ “Trying to escape, Peralta?” his crooked silver tooth shimmered. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more clever than that, kitten.” _

_ He was close, but not close enough. _

_ The grip on his phone was faltering until the device slipped from his fingers, but Vechio caught it. _

_ “Ah, yes, the outside world. With whom did you want to talk to?”  _

_ He held the phone in front of his nose, waving it, to mock his failure. It stung, but Jake didn't want to give him the satisfaction of his terrified expression. His face remained neutral, if not a little bit lost because of the headache. _

_ “Could it be your Captain? I heard Raymond cares for you significantly. It would be a pity for him to find your corpse rotting in a river, and for him to blame himself for the rest of his life.” _

_ Captain Holt won't give up on finding him. _

_ “Or perhaps your wife? She’s lovely, really, but I'm sure she wouldn't want your slurred voice to disturb her work.” _

_ Not true. _

_ “Or perhaps I should bring her here too? I'm sure she’d like to see your messed up head, or you would like to hear her scream-” _

_ His brain had suddenly cleared up with anger and he tried to punch the ugly face in front of him, but Vechio caught the fist with his hand. _

_ “None of that, kitten. You need to rest. We have much to do in a few hours.” _

_ Vechio caressed his face and he wanted to puke in disgust, but the nearly gentle motion was just to grip his hair and slam his head back against the locker. He didn't bother trying to stay awake this time. _

_ \- - - - - - - - - - _

“...And he never arrived home?”

Holt was having an excellent morning. His tie had no crinkled as he slipped it on, his piece of toast was equally browned on all surfaces, Cheddar had not barked at putting on his sweater and Kevin had walked with him to work. 

He had even ignored Santiago’s tardiness and remained in his office, adamant to finish his paperwork early in order to be home on time for jeopardy. And though he thoroughly enjoyed a glass of wine and a correct answer in front of the television, Amy’s reaction when she knocked on his door told him otherwise.

The detective was holding herself together, and Holt hoped it was only due to the fact that it wasn't extremely unusual for Peralta to be missing. Or so he told himself.

The man had done crazier things in the past, but it was unlike him to ignore texts and calls, unless something bad had happened.

“No. I thought he had stayed in for the night, he usually does from time to time. So I came here this morning with some extra breakfast. But he's not here, and-”

Holt leaned forward on his desk, intertwined his fingers. 

“Do the others know anything?”

Before Santiago could reply, Rosa barged into the room with an answer. “Sarge saw him in the evidence locker late last night, and one of the uniformed officers saw him leave around midnight. Nobody has seen him since.”

Holt nodded. “What about texts or calls?”

“Nothing either. He didn't reply to Amy, me or Boyle. Sarge called Gina to see if she had noticed anything, but she said no too.”

“He could have left his phone unplugged-”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s bullshit.” Rosa cut in. “Peralta may be unpredictable, but he always leaves messages. If he had stayed here, he would have told Amy. He always does, at least for the past two years.”

She was correct. Peralta had made a habit to make sure people knew where he was. Holt couldn't pinpoint the time when he started- whether it was since that therapist took him hostage or prison, but he always received a text from the detective if he was breaking his schedule.

He swallowed a sigh. “Santiago, go home and see if he is not there. Diaz, try to figure out where he is. I believe this is not too serious but…” he paused to look at both of his detectives.

Throughout the years they had become an oddly formatted family, and before him was the wife nd friend of a person he himself cared deeply about. Even if they all had bonds with Jake, they had to keep it professional.

“... but if it is, we can proceed as protocol demands.”

They both nodded and left in a hurry. Holt scooped out his phone, hoping to text his husband about his change of plans. And perhaps there was a very small possibility that Jake might be in his own home, but he could only hope.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Rosa had to contain herself from punching the dead-beat cop square in the jaw. Sarge’s hand on her shoulder was the only reason why she wasn't jumping on him, but he himself was also surprised by the officer's evident stupidity.

“I told you already, there was no one here last night-”

“This street has been used for drug busts four times in the last year. It is your job to be here.” she interrupted icily.

The officer shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, nothing was going on. Nobody was acting suspicious, so I just left for the night. I’m sure you would have done the same-”

He yelped loudly when she grabbed his shirt and slammed him against the wall. A few pedestrians turned to look at them but kept walking.

“Rosa…” Terry began.

“Now you listen to me, you piece of scum,” Rosa spat. “My friend walked home through here and disappeared last night, and I am sure it was because you left your post. So when I find him, if he's hurt, or has so much as a scratch, you will lose your job. You understand?”

The officer nodded frantically and she let him go, storming away. Terry catched up to her after sending him an apologetic glance.

“What the hell, Rosa? We don't even know if Jake went through here.”

“Yeah, we do.” she said. “Jake has two walking routes to go home, this one or one he only takes with Amy. He went through here and something happened.”

She knew this for a fact. Amy had already called to inform that Jake isn't home and still isn't answering his messages, and they had carefully traced his normal routine outside the precinct.

Terry remained silent as she walked, stopping every few steps to analyze the road. Nothing seemed unusual except-

“Through here.”

They both turned around to an alley, empty and less noticeable than others routes. She glanced at the sides of the road: no cameras that looked at this angle, and most of the windows that gave view were too small for anyone to have been watching.

“Rosa…”

She froze when she heard Terry’s quiet murmur. He was crowching, eyes fixed on a spot on the ground- blood. Her stomach curled, but she was quicker than him to take out the supplies to collect evidence. 

“Take a look around. There could be more.”

After pocketing the collected blood she slipped on a new pair of gloves and began poking through some of the trash bags while Terry checked the walls. Nothing seemed to stand out- everything was tightly packed in the black plastic.

“Nothing here…” muttered Terry, but something glimmered in her peripheral vision.

A chocolate wrapper.

It was golden, and stood out from the rest of the city filth. She took it to look up, not noticing anything else until Terry let out a small, satisfied gasp.

“He was definitely here.” he said. “Captain Holt has those same chocolates in his office.”

_ Jake must have dropped it as some sort of sign. _

She nodded. “I’ll take the blood sample to the lab. You got to tell the others.”

Terry did not complain and left the alley, but she stayed behind. Her memory took her back to when Jake was kidnapped by that crazy attorney. They had gotten to him on time, but with just a few minutes to spare before the weirdo tried anything stupid. She had watched the tapes indicating Jake’s fake suicide, and she’d be lying if she claimed it didn’t give her chills.

Putting her helmet on, she tightened her grip around the sample, and prayed it wasn't Jake’s.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

He shouldn't have closed his eyes. The realization hit him before he opened them again, feeling his hands bound once again behind his back. His eyes were covered with cloth again, but he didn't feel bothered by the darkness, rather the feeling of someone else's presence in the room.

He was sure that someone was watching him, feeling a gaze pinned on his face. He tried not to move or give any alert to indicate he was awake, hoping to make out more details of his predicament.

Surprisingly, he hadn't moved or made a snarky comment yet. Perhaps if the situation was different, or if his head wasn't hurting as much, he would have goofed around and maybe made some cool sound effects already. He was about to shift slowly when a hand touched the side of his face.

The strangers touch was gentle at first, though it became rougher when the hand grabbed his hair and pulled back, making him gasp.

“He awakens.”

He didn't recognize the voice. It annoyed him that the blindfold hadn't been removed, and the hand slipped away from his hair to his chin, regaining it’s gentle yet firm hold.

“You have to forgive the very odd encounter, Peralta, but considering what you have cost me, this is barely a scratch.”

Through the blindfold, Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I have no clue who you are. And since I have a lot of enemies, you don't really seem too special-”

His reply was cut short when the stranger chuckled and slapped him. The impact forced his head to the side and his inner cheek got caught with his teeth, making him swallow some blood. Before he could curse, the hand was trailing his jaw again. He considered trying to bite it momentarily before the stranger spoke again.

“Of course, my mistake is forgetting how careless you are, walking around New York and messing around. You lack ethics and maturity- I always wondered how you made detective.”

“Well, maybe being smart helped. What do you want, anyways? I have stuff to do.”

He tried to keep his voice still and hide away the fear that was beginning to eat at his stomach.

He could partially feel the person smile. “I imagine you do. Sadly, I’m afraid you will no longer be able to do anything at all.”

“Why?”

“I expect compensation for all the bullshit you've pulled, Peralta.”

He scoffed. “Then you didn't do enough research, dumbass. I'm dead broke-”

“I don't want money.”

The hand yanked his hair roughly again before the chair was pushed forward. His hands, in a vain attempt to shield his face from the fall, dug deeper against the bonds. Even with the blindfold, Jake could still feel his vision dot with stars.

“You can pay me through another currency, detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to keep Jake's personality playful, but this situation wasnt, uh, a very happy one. Comments? Please?
> 
> If I have the time I'll update the next chapter either this Friday or Saturday, if not, it probably will be until next week. Stay safe!


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evryone copes with Jake's disaperance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? What???????
> 
> Ok so warnings for violence and Roger Peralta's A+ Parenting at the begining of the fic. And while I'm at it, shoutout to Count_Akwardness for helping me edit and yeetus159, who is co-writing more prompts with me!
> 
> Enjoy!

Though he liked to talk about himself constantly, Jake was always reluctant to talk about his childhood. He  _ did  _ have fond memories, like afternoons at Nana’s with cinnamon hot chocolate, or movies with his mum. However, every time he tried to think of his family, the thought of Roger clouded cheerful moments.

A few months after his wedding, Karen had caught Roger cheating again. He was happy to hear that she had dumped him, even setting fire to some of his clothes, though he wasn't surprised. He had hugged her while she angrily complained about his moronic ass, and even asked for forgiveness. Jake had only shook his head and tried to be comforting, but he really wanted to go ‘I told you so’ on his mother.

Even so, with the heavy weight of the asshole’s absence and hypocrisy, Jake began going back to those little moments.

He figured his antagonist was Vecchio a few days earlier. They had dragged him to a smaller, more compact room, and his blindfold had slipped. He had caught sight of the man: peppered greased hair and a golden tooth that shined when he talked. The man had catched him staring and regarded him with a sick smile before the door closed.

It was impossible to predict when Vecchio would come back for another session of pointless pain, but when he did, Jake lost himself to childhood memories, or anything he could grasp. It was both a way of escapism and a manner to piss off the psychopath, who disliked it when the detective stopped paying attention.

His childhood was divided into Before and After labels. Before Rogers left, and after he did.

Before: the three of them watching Die Hard with chinese takeout, Roger lending him his pilot hat for career day, when his parents would dance to funky 80s music after dinner, and when they fought violently, with him hiding in his closet out of fear of flying objects or violent comments.

After: Him spending more time at Nanas with Gina, Karen taking him to the movies in her free time, both of them dancing to the same awful music, and her dozens of bad dates.

Not everything was terrible, nor black and white, and he would much rather think of Roger’s girlfriends or his mother’s burned meatloaf than of the sound of a metal pipe slamming against his shoulder repeatedly. And even if it only happened on one occasion and his shoulder, though hideously bruised, was not broken, the sounds still made him nauseous, blackouts later.

Therefor, his coping mechanism for the pointless, prolonged torture Vecchio was destroying him with, was memories.

Sometimes he even tried to dream of Amy. He didn't want to taint the prized image of her with the blood and filth that covered every inch of this hell hole, but her presence in his mind was still comforting.

Sometimes, when Vecchio and his men left, and he laid on the floor, unable to move, he would play out her voice in his head. Sometimes he just had energy for her laughter, but it was enough to keep him sane. He hoped she didn't worry too much for him, but also hoped she hadn't forgotten.

Of course she hadn't. She was his wife, right?

They still had much to do. He still wanted to go to the polish place for hot cocoa, take her on trips to their surveillance rooftop on their anniversary, watch her complete crossword puzzles at night and complain about the difference between two synonyms of the same letter count.

He couldn't tell the time, or how long he had been trapped, but he liked to picture her at night, either at the precinct, still looking at every piece of evidence that would point in his direction. Or at home, finishing her puzzle with a cup of burned microwave dinners or the chicken he had left in the fridge.

She was strong. Either she would find him, or be strong enough to move on.

\- - - - - - - - - -

If Jacob was not the kidnapped victim in this situation, he would have been surprised for Santiago to barge into his office and demand she take the case. Since Rosa had informed him about the blood samples and chocolate wrapper found in the alley, he knew he could not assign the case to the newest Sargent.

However, Holt had to be patient. He tried to picture himself in her shoes- knowing full well that if it was Kevin who was taken, his brain would lose all logic due to emotions.

“Santiago, I understand your predicament, but-”

“But what? Is not putting me on the case gonna help Jake!? We are wasting time-”

“Santiago!” Holt stood up and she snapped her mouth shut. “I am doing this to keep the investigation running smoothly. As a professional, you are aware that we do not involve family members in police operations to minimize emotional-”

She interrupted him again. “Family and friends, Captain. Aren't Boyle and Rosa best friends with Jake?! They get to be in the investigation too! You yourself love him like a kid, don't deny it!”

Holt’s lips closed in a tight line, and he sat down again. “Nothing about this situation is normal, Santiago, and…”

He sighed. It was true- nothing about this was normal. Whenever a folder containing graphic descriptions of kidnappings, torture, or murder landed on his desk, he acted profesionally and tried not to become empathetic with the victim. Yes, they were trying to help as many people as possible, but there was always an amount of collateral damage and death that could not be stopped. Harm was inevitable, and if he familiarized himself with every individual case and wore his heart on his sleeve, working would be harder.

However, it was impossible for himself, or any of them, to become distant from this case. 

They were all family. 

They all shared Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, not to mention birthdays.

His own husband had invited Jake over weeks before, for an exchange of books and films.

“... we must maintain order. Rosa is an excellent detective, and she will handle the case well. When we find Jacob, you will be part of it too, but I also need you to focus on your job as a Sargent.”

Amy bit her lip, and he noticed briefly how it began to quiver. Her expression remained strong, but he could tell she was hurting. Standing up, he made his way to her side of the desk and put a hand on her shoulder.

“We will get him back, Amy, I promise. But we need to be patient.”

The woman nodded with appreciation before leaving, closing the door softly.

He cursed under his breath. In any other circumstances he would not have let his language swoop so low, but, then again.

_ Nothing about this is normal. _

It was a rookie mistake to promise the victims relatives anything related to the case. But Amy needed it. And so did he.

Rosa was already by the door when he sat back down. She entered the room, glancing back at Amy’s hunched form over the coffee machine. “How did she take it?”

“Professionally.” he replied. 

With a curt nod, she sat down, plopping a thick file on his desk. “Right. This is all I gathered from Vecchio and Jake’s time undercover.”

He took a deep breath and straightened his reading glasses. 

“Let us get started, then.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

The polish place was one of their favourite places to dine due to two facts: the amazing hot cocoa, and how long it stayed opened. Usually their shifts ended at a normal hour, but because they were both work alcoholics they got home around eleven or twelve. No restaurant was open for catering, and they longed to go out and relax.

They would walk together, while she was still in her Sergeants uniform, taking turns to ramble about the day. She loved that about him the most- even if he didn't understand what she talked about, he would pay attention, ask questions, and act interested in her obsessions.

When they reached the restaurant, they would share potato pancakes and pierogi, small pastries that looked like dumplings.

Now she was on their table alone, sipping on cocoa and pushing the potato pancake around with her fork. 

Three days. He had been missing for three days.

She couldn't blame Rosa at all, or anyone in the precinct. Amy kind of wished she could, for it would make it easier to channel her anger. But the only one who deserved her wrath and cruelty was Vecchio.

Her mind went back to Jake, picturing his outline in the seat in front of her, with a smudge of chocolate in his upper lip and a bright smile.

Everything about their relationship was perfect. He was so supportive, recognizing her talent with proud smiles and poking jokes.

_ I've always known you were gonna be my boss. This is your dream before we were dating. You can't be afraid to be successful. You're too good for that. _

He even stopped giving himself enough credit. Amy remembered when he had admitted to being jealous of Melvin Stermly. Most importantly, she remembered his downcast expression when he explained his fear of her realizing he isn't as smart. That perhaps she would one day prefer to be with someone at her own level. It had both broken her heart and made her fall in an even deeper love with him.

Jake, with his yippy voice, and goofy smile, with his chestnut eyes glimmered with childlike curiosity, his thin hands and his old school references, and the crinkles that formed next to his eyes, and…

“Ma’am? Would you like the check?”

The memory broke apart and the vision of his smiling self vanished from the seat. She nodded shakily and paid for her small dinner.

The walk back home was very silent, and she didn't feel like thinking.

Back home she slipped into one of his t-shirts, but did not go to sleep. She was tired, but her hands were terribly fidgety. She began to clean.

First the kitchen, washing the few dishes in the sink then taking out the dishes they owned and washing them again, scrubbing one or twice per plate with big amounts of green soap. All the cabinets were opened, and she cleaned utensil after utensil, arranging them on top of the table to dust the cabinets.

The house was quiet, so when a loud knock ruptured the silence she nearly dropped the glass she was wiping.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Rosa standing outside with a duffel bag and coat.

“What-”

“I'm staying for the night.” she said, walking past her and throwing the bag in towards the couch. “You can't be trusted alone.”

Amy closed the door and walked towards the detective. “I'm not the one in danger right now-”

Rosa’s iron stare cut her off. “Your husband is missing. My friend is missing. We’re sticking together and that's final.

Amy was left speechless as Rosa turned and entered the kitchen, picking up one of the rags. The woman took one of the glasses and began cleaning. “There's a bottle of vodka in the bag.”

“A-and?”

“Take it out, dumbass. Potato pancakes aren't enough to get dead drunk.”

She said no more and kept working. Amy sighted but zipped the bag open. There were two bottles with silver letters, and she opened both, taking a long, hearty swing from one.

After passing the other to Rosa, she took out a sponge and began scrapping the sink violently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm expanding the February Prompts series to keep going for the rest of the year. Drop a comment with your prompt if you'd like! And even if you don't have a prompt, comments give me ~seratonin~
> 
> This chapter was shorter than others but hopefully you all like it. See you next Friday!


	5. ANNOUNCMENT

So I usually would not do this because I'm only delaying it a day or two, but.... I've gotten VERY attached to this fic. 

The announcment is that there won't be a chapter this week, I'll post it either on Sunday or until Monday. I've gotten caught up in things again and didn't like what I had written for the new chapter, soooo.... yeah. I'll delete this once the next chapter is up.

Also, quick reminder, I am taking B99 prompts for the rest of the year. They will take time to come out, but I'm on it, I promise. If you all have any ideas for THIS fic as well, do comment them

Much love,

Elo.

**Author's Note:**

> I am really bad with sex jokes. I have to admit this before anyone reads any further into this.
> 
> What do you think? Please leave a comment to give me more inspiration, it makes my day <3
> 
> I'll try to update weekly, but I can't really give a specific date. I want to keep working on other prompts and sometimes things can come up that lessen my time to write.
> 
> Remember I'm taking B99 prompts till the end of March! Leave a comment if you have an idea.
> 
> <3


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